


we'll have this moment forever (but never again)

by sopaloma



Series: bughead through the decades [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 1940s AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, WW2, archie and jug go to war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-08 00:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14092818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopaloma/pseuds/sopaloma
Summary: The town with pep grows sombre as the reality of what is about to happen draws closer. The men –boys– in their town will be leaving soon; will go overseas to fight for their country. Boys who Betty has known her whole her life, who she grew up with and went to school with and never went a week without seeing. Most of them have never left the country – some of them have never even left their hometown – and now they will be on the other side of the world with a huge responsibility on their shoulders.And among all of the worry and sadness, Betty can only focus on two people – Archie and Jughead.A 40s AU.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> title from Doris Day, "Again"
> 
> this is it - the final part of this series! i'm so sad to be leaving it behind and it's been such a blast to explore our faves in different periods of time. a big thank you to anyone who has read, commented on, and/or supported this series. i am consistently amazed by the interest and response.
> 
> this story will cover 1941-1945. i did some research before writing this but i am relying on artistic license here! there are some things that happen that may not be totally accurate to the time. also, the language has been tricky. i've tried to keep it suitable to the decade but some modern turns of phrase have definitely slipped in!
> 
> please make note of the angst tag - this one is gonna be a little rough. and most importantly, enjoy! <3

America declares it’s involvement in the war and the atmosphere in Riverdale shifts.

The town with pep grows sombre as the reality of what is about to happen draws closer. The men – _boys_ – in their town will be leaving soon; will go overseas to fight for their country. Boys who Betty has known her whole her life, who she grew up with and went to school with and never went a week without seeing. Most of them have never left the country – some of them have never even left their hometown – and now they will be on the other side of the world with a huge responsibility on their shoulders.

And among all of the worry and sadness, Betty can only focus on two people – Archie and Jughead.

They are her closest friends, the two people she trusts more than anyone else in the world. Since she was three years old, there hasn’t been a day that goes by where she doesn’t see at least one of them. But now they would be gone – far away from home and far away from _her_ – risking their lives, and Betty isn’t sure she knows how to be without them.

 

 

 

 

 

When the draft is announced and they are called for duty, she wills herself not to cry and fails miserably.

“Hey, hey,” Archie says softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He brings her in close, into his warmth. “It’ll be alright,” he murmurs. “We’ll be alright.”

Jughead doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know that they _will_ be alright and he can’t bring himself to give Betty false hope – to give _himself_ false hope. He’s always been a realist; she knows this about him.

Instead, he slips his hand into hers and squeezes her fingers. He couldn’t give her much in the way of words but he hoped his touch was enough, just for a little while.

 

 

 

 

 

They come to find her one day, at the library where she works. Her manager, Edna, calls her over from the fiction section.

“You have visitors,” she smiles, peering at her over her glasses.

Betty's face lights up as soon as she sees them – Jughead leaning up against the reception desk, flipping through a copy of _The Hobbit_ , and Archie leaning across it, talking animatedly to one of her co-workers.

Jughead looks up and sees her first, and nudges Archie to get his attention.

“What are you doing here?” she asks as she walks towards them. “I thought you were working with Mr Andrews today.”

“Lunch break,” Jughead responds.

“And we wanted to bring you this,” Archie says, lifting up a white paper box. “It’s a little something from Pop’s, to cheer you up. We know you’ve been feeling blue.”

Betty places her hand over her heart, touched, and takes the box from him.

“Thank you.” She leans up on her toes to kiss Archie’s cheek and then leans over to kiss Jughead’s. “You’re very sweet.”

She lifts the lid to find a slice of cherry pie inside – her favorite.

“It was Archie’s idea,” Jughead says.

“But Jughead picked the flavor,” Archie interjects. “He said cherry was your favorite.”

“It is,” she smiles, and then lifts her gaze to Jughead. “Thanks, Juggie.”

He looks away quickly, embarrassed, and mumbles, “You’re welcome.”

“We should be going. Our hour is almost over,” Archie says. “We just wanted to drop this off.”

“Oh, okay.” She smiles and raises the box. “Well, thank you again. And enjoy the rest of your day.”

“We will.” Archie leans over to brush a kiss against her cheek and squeezes her waist. “See you later, Betty.”

Jughead smiles. “Bye, Betts,” and is out of the door, trailing behind Archie.

She places the box on the desk, a little smile still pulling at her lips as she opens it up.

“Such sweet boys,” Edna coos. “What are you all going to do without each other?”

Betty shrugs, trying to remain strong. “We’ll be okay,” she replies, and then adds, quieter, “We have to be.”

“Well those boys sure love you,” she says, a fond expression on her face.

Betty nods, throat feeling tight. “I know. I love them, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

In an effort to distract themselves, the three of them ride down to Sweetwater River on their bikes, the way they have every Sunday since they were children. It is a sunny day and Betty basks in the warmth of the sun beating down on them. It felt like any other Sunday and for a moment Betty can almost forget about the rest of the world.

As they ride down the street, heading towards their favorite path, Betty pauses outside of a familiar, old house. It is empty, windowless, the wood panelling broken and weather-worn and the garden unkempt after years of abandonment. Archie and Jughead come to a stop beside her and Archie chuckles.

“What is it with you and this house, Betts?”

She smiles softly as she stares up at it. “It’s so beautiful, don’t you think?

“Um, no. Not really.”

“It would have been, a long time ago. Before the owners left,” Jughead interjects.

She smiles over at him. “I can just imagine it. Wooden beams, blue shutters, a fresh coat of white paint. And the yard backs onto the river. It would have been so pretty.”

“Maybe one day someone will buy it and fix it up,” Archie suggests.

“Maybe,” she murmurs.

They set off again and down the little path at the end of the street that leads to the river. There is a field at the end, a long stretch of grass littered with flowers. They throw their bikes to the ground as they arrive and Betty pulls a picnic blanket out of her bag. She lays it out across the ground and stretches out on it, on her stomach, her feet in the air and crossed at the ankles.

With her sunglasses shielding her eyes, she switches been watching Archie and Jughead play baseball in the field and reading her copy of _The Grapes of Wrath_. There is a soft breeze rolling through the field, she can hear the flow of the river and the bird song in the trees, and occasionally Archie’s laughter as Jughead fails to hit the ball. This is her favorite kind of day – relaxing by the river with her best friends – and the days she will miss most when they are gone.

A little later, Jughead joins her on the blanket, his journal open in his lap as he scrawls across the pages.

“New ideas for your novel?”

He smiles but doesn’t look up. “Yeah. Although I doubt any of them are good.”

She scoffs. “Juggie, you’re a great writer. I’m sure they’re great.”

Archie comes over then, stripped down to a pair of swim trunks.

“I’m going for a swim. Are you coming, Betts?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t bring my swim suit. But go have fun.”

He bends down to press a swift kiss to her forehead and then jogs down to the water. Betty watches him with a fond smile. The sun shines down on him, making his red hair glow in the light. He dives beneath the water and then rises back up, shakes the water from his hair as he stands. He is so handsome and carefree, always glass half-full, even in these trying times.

She turns to look at Jughead then. His brows are pinched together in concentration as he writes, quick and messy, across the paper. In comparison, he is so serious, always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. They could not be more opposite yet Betty knows she needs them both in her life. There is a balance between them, one that keeps her grounded.

She sets her book aside and lays her head on her arms, face turned toward the river. She tries to divert her thoughts away from their current path – it would only make her morose. And today was not a day for being sad.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty leans back against the wall, watching Archie mingle with his friends. It is supposed to be a night of celebration – a last hurrah for the men before they leave – and Betty seems to be the only one who is unable to mask her misery.

She does love him, she thinks. Maybe not the way she was supposed to – the way she was _expected_ to – but there was love there nonetheless. He is the embodiment of so many milestones in her life; her first friend, her first kiss, her first boyfriend. The thought of him leaving makes her chest ache and her stomach hurt but there’s a part of her, sad and quiet, that knows she won’t miss him the way one should miss their love.

Their relationship is not borne out of true love. They are not friends who began to look at each other differently one day and eventually became more. Their love story is one of familiarity and duty to their family. Her parents wanted her to love and marry someone like Archie and so they had pushed her in his direction, convinced her that it was the right step forward in her life. And his parents liked the idea of their son marrying the neighbor-girl.

It had been easy, shifting from best friends to sweethearts. They knew each other so well, had shared every moment of their lives together, so adding chaste kisses and linked hands to that friendship had been a simple, smooth transition.

But that’s _all_ it was. Simple, smooth.

It wasn’t the romance Betty liked to read about. He didn’t make her swoon with one of his handsome smiles and her heart didn’t flutter when they made eye contact across the room.

She loves Archie, she truly does. But she loves him like a friend, like a brother. And that wasn’t the kind of love story Betty had envisioned for herself.

 

 

 

 

 

She finds Jughead at the snack table, tucking into one of Mrs McCoy’s sandwiches. His brow is furrowed into a frown, the way it always seemed to be lately, and Betty realizes she was wrong to assume she was the only one struggling to hide her emotions. Jughead was just as miserable as her and he wasn’t even attempting to hide it.

“How are you doing?” she asks, linking her arm through his.

He swallows his bite of sandwich. “I’m about to go to war, Betts.” He shoots her a grin, false and exaggerated. “I’m just swell.”

She sighs and drops her head onto his shoulder. She doesn’t know what to say. There were no words of comfort to offer him. What was happening to them was terrifying and out of their control, and Betty knew he wouldn’t appreciate her lying for the sake of making him feel better. It wouldn’t work anyway.

“I don’t know how he does it,” he says quietly and when Betty looks up, she sees he’s staring at Archie. “I know he’s scared, just like the rest of us, but he’s so good at pretending he isn’t.”

“I don’t understand it either,” she admits. “He’s always been the positive one of the three of us.”

Jughead hums in agreement.

“I need some of that positivity if I’m going to get through this.”

Words fail her again because there is no comfort during this time, only uncertainty. She looks over at him, studies his face, and sees that beneath the frown is real, genuine fear. And her heart breaks all over again.

 

 

 

 

 

She is talking to Midge at her table – the speeches and words of encouragement from the older men in town now over – when Archie stands up and taps his knife against his glass.

“Everyone, if I could have your attention,” he says loud and clear, addressing the room.

Betty looks up, confused, and waits for him to continue. He smiles down at her, warmth in his eyes as they meet, and Betty feels even more puzzled. Something settles low in her stomach, a feeling she can’t quite identify - but if she had to give it a name, she would call it dread.

“There are hard times ahead,” he begins. “We are about to embark on the unknown for the sake of our country and our freedom. These past weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the future and what it holds for me, and while I know that it is unclear, I also know that there is one person that I want to be part of it.”

He looks down at her again, a little smile on his lips, and then slowly bends down to one knee. That feeling washes over Betty, smothering her, and her face pales as she realizes what is happening.

He slips one hand into his pocket and pulls out a small black box, opening it up to reveal a diamond ring. Beside her, Midge gasps, delighted, but Betty can only stare at the jewellery.

“Betty,” he smiles, all white teeth and boyish charm. “You are my best friend and the woman I want to share my life with, and I was hoping you would do me the pleasure of becoming my wife.” He takes her hand. “Elizabeth Cooper, will you marry me?”

Around them, there are other gasps of surprise and happy sighs. The whole town is in the room, witnessing this moment, and completely enraptured by the romance of it all. The Andrews boy proposing to the Cooper girl; high school sweethearts engaged to be wed, just before he goes to war.

She is silent, still staring at him. Archie falters, his smile growing nervous as he murmurs, “Betty?”

She snaps out of her daze then and lifts her gaze, eyes immediately landing on her mother. Stood a few feet away with her hands clasped over her heart, she looks positively giddy. This is a dream come true, her youngest daughter marrying a man she approves of.

Her eyes flicker around then before finally landing on Jughead. He is stood near the back of the room and that frown is still there, pinching his features, only deeper now. They make contact and as soon as their eyes meet, Jughead straightens up and slips out of the room.

His reaction makes her feel worse. She knew he often felt like a spare part, a third wheel to their couple, but she didn’t think he’d find it quite so difficult to watch a huge moment in his two best friend’s lives.

Her eyes return to Archie who is looking even more wary and expectant. She realizes she has been quiet for a long time and people are beginning to murmur. Embarrassment heats up her skin, her neck feeling hot and red. She doesn’t know what to say. Any other girl would have accepted immediately, so enamoured with Archie Andrews and the ultimate romantic gesture, and wanting the security of marriage. But all she feels is panic and shame. Her answer isn’t immediate; there isn’t a ‘yes’ already on her lips, and she’s not sure why.

She thinks of the glee and approval clear on her mother’s face. Then she pictures the disappointment she would see on Archie’s handsome features is she were to say no, and in front of all of these people. The thought makes her stomach twist uncomfortably and she knows she can’t let that happen; she can’t be the cause of his humiliation and pain.

Besides, wasn’t this for the best? Surely this was the way things were meant to be. She and Archie – neighbors, friends, sweetheart – they just made sense. And marriage was the logical next step.

So she answers the only way she can.

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

 

The evening air is brisk and cool but Betty welcomes the change in temperature. She was overheating inside, warmed by the room and the embarrassment she felt. Everyone was looking at her, smiling at her, coming over to congratulate her. She didn’t know what to do with the attention.

It takes her a minute to notice him, leant up against a wall as he smokes a cigarette.

“Oh,” she murmurs in surprise. “Hi.”

Jughead smiles – small, barely visible. “Hi. Needed a break from the well-wishers?”

Her answering smile is weak. “Yeah.”

He nods, blows out a stream of smoke.

“So… Mrs Archie Andrews.” His mouth ticks up on one side but he isn’t smiling, not really. “Just like when we were young; weddings in Archie’s backyard after school.”

Betty pictures her younger self: eight years old with one of her mother’s table cloths draped over her head, a handful of flowers plucked straight from Mary Andrews’ garden clutched in her hand. Archie had always played her little game, had always been a willing participant, ready to fill the role of groom.

It had once been her dream, so why does she feel sick at the thought of that childhood game becoming a reality?

“Isn’t it silly?” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood. She laughs but the sound is unnatural and weak. “You’d think we would have let go of childish dreams.”

“Is that what this is?” he asks, voice quieter. “A childish dream?”

Betty swallows and looks away. Softly, she admits, “I’m not sure.”

He walks up behind her then until she can feel his warmth on her back.

“Are you happy, Betty?”

“I think so,” she replies, then turns to face him.

His eyebrows pull together in concern. “Because you should be happy,” he tells her firmly. “Always.”

She looks up at him, surprised by the serious expression on his face. There is a tension between them, an atmosphere. It is has never been there before; Betty doesn’t think she’s ever felt anything like it.

His eyes flicker down to her lips and back up, almost too quick for her to catch it – but she does. The tension crackles between them and he steps closer. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. She can’t make sense of what is happening but something is building. She can feel it.

“I… I think _I_ could make you happy,” he confesses, face more open and vulnerable than she’s ever seen it, and Betty’s heart lurches into her throat. He leans down, closing the distance between them.

“Jug,” she murmurs, voice tinged with confusion, but she doesn’t step back.

“Tell me to stop, Betty,” he says and he sounds like he’s pleading, begging her. “Push me away, scream at me. Do something. _Please_.”

Betty’s lips part but no words comes out, only a shuddering breath. She can’t tell him to stop, can only stare at him with wide, open eyes.

“Give me one last good memory before I go,” he murmurs, his eyes closing.

She hears the deep breath he takes and watches as he tilts his head, leans in closer. Her eyes fall shut just before his lips brush against hers, a whisper of a kiss. She can feel his breath against her lips when he pulls back, but he returns a moment later to kiss her again, trapping her bottom lip between his.

Her arms remain by her sides, limp and unsure, but that doesn’t stop her from kissing him back, from pressing the lightest pressure against his lips. He makes a quiet noise, low, in the back of his throat, and Betty’s stomach tightens at the sound. His mouth moves against hers with more insistence, his hand reaching up to cup her face. Her lips part beneath his and she can taste him, can feel his breath, is surrounded by his scent. She can’t focus on anything but _him_.

Betty has never been kissed like this before.

Her eyes flutter open as they finally part and her stomach does another somersault as she sees his face; soft eyes, kiss-reddened lips, and a new kind of sadness she’s never seen before.

“This is what I’ll think about,” he tells her, still so close that his breath washes over her. “When I’m alone and terrified in a trench somewhere, missing you so much that I can’t stand it – this is what I’ll think about to get me through.”

She wishes she could find her voice, could respond to his words, but she is a mess. There is no chance of her articulating all of the things she is feeling, all the questions she has – _What did this mean? How long has he wanted to kiss her?_ It would be impossible for her to describe this tangle of emotions – surprise, heartbreak, confusion, _love_.

So she remains silent and watches him smile sadly. He brushes his thumb across her cheekbone before leaning down to brush his lips across it.

“Goodbye, Betty,” he whispers against her skin.

“Goodbye,” she whispers back, but he is already gone.

 


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and left kudo's on the first chapter! you're the best <3
> 
> something a little different this chapter and i'm very excited to see what you think. some of the content here was taken directly from real letters sent during ww2 and some lines are inspired by them. doing research for this chapter was a fascinating delve into wartime mail and the tone and language used in correspondence during that time! i just hope it pays off.
> 
> also, forgot to mention last chapter - inspo for this fic is the notebook (obv) and atonement
> 
> comments are appreciated! & come find me on tumblr @sopaloma :)

_2 July 1942_

_Dearest Archie,_

_I have come to the river today to be alone. A part of me is expecting to see you here on your bicycle, Jughead in tow. But alas, it is still just me and the river, and the trees._

_We haven’t been apart for long but I already miss you terribly. It is lonely here without you and I often find myself reminiscing and thinking of simpler days. Those days are far behind us now._

_Sometimes I daydream about where you are and what you are doing at that exact moment. In all of my dreams, you are in Europe and it is so pretty, but I know that is likely untrue. Do you ever daydream?..._

 

 

 

 

 

_4 September 1942_

_Dear Betty,_

_So happy to hear from you. I hope this letter finds you well._

_Yes, I daydream. I like to think of the river back home and our days spent there. We were so young and carefree back then. I could have spent all of my days by the water with you and Jughead._

_He is my saving grace here. We are lucky enough to be in the same regiment. While most men are grouped together with strangers, we have each other. It is nice to see a familiar face. It is a small comfort on the worst days._

_How is everyone? How are my parents? I know Polly was expecting when we left, do you know when the child is due?..._

 

 

_~~5 September 1942~~ _

_~~Betty,~~ _

_~~On the longest nights, when I am missing you the most, I think of you lying back in the field by Sweetwater in your pretty yellow dress. I imagine lifting your skirt and feeling your warmth and kissing your cunt. And on those nights, it is the sweetest pleasure you have ever known.~~ _

_~~It is your face I see behind my eyes when I take myself in hand. I know I should be ashamed but I~~ _

 

 

 

 

_5 September 1942_

_Dear Betty,_

_Archie was so pleased to receive your letter and after reading it, I thought I would send correspondence of my own. Although, I doubt it will be as optimistic as his._

_So far, war has been an interesting, if unpleasant experience. I could certainly have done without it, but since it has been necessary, I’m glad to be one of those taking a share in it. I believe myself to be a pacifist by nature but I am also no coward._

_I’ve had a lot of time to think on things and one thing that always comes to mind is the futility of war. It is so brutal and stupid and sometimes I can hardly believe that I am witnessing it with my own eyes. There is so much destruction in its wake and I remember that with every move I make._

_One positive of war is that I have truly come to understand the beauty of home. Never in my life did I think I would miss Riverdale, yet here I am mourning its simplicity and familiarity. How time changes things…_

 

 

 

 

 

1005AM OCT 7 1942

VICTORIA MANTLE  
            143 MAPLE AVENUE RIVERDALE NJ

THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEPEST REGRET THAT YOUR SON PRIVATE REGINALD R. MANTLE WAS KILLED IN ACTION ON TWENTY SIX AUGUST IN AUSTRIA                   LETTER FOLLOWS

                                         J A ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL

 

 

 

 

 

_18 November 1942_

_Dear Jughead,_

_I could not stop smiling when I received your letter. I noticed your handwriting on the envelope immediately – messy and bold, as it is._

_Your words were a pleasure to read, as always. I am glad that you are still able to exercise your love of writing while out on the front. And only you, Forsythe Jones, could be so philosophical whilst in the midst of war._

_I can’t express how happy I was to learn that you and Archie are together. It is a comfort to me, however small, that if I can’t be with you both, you still have each other. I pray that it remains that way._

_On a sadder note, the Mantle family have received terrible news. Reggie was killed in action in August. The whole town is in mourning…_

 

 

 

 

_25 December 1943_

_Dear Archie,_

_I know that you will receive this letter much too late but I wanted to write it nonetheless._

_Merry Christmas, Archie. Wherever you are, I hope you are happy and know that I miss you. Please pass my wishes onto Jughead, too._

_I have enclosed a photograph of myself. Ginger made the suggestion. She thought you would like it. My hope is that seeing a familiar face will bring at least a small amount of joy on this day._

_Stay safe!  
Love, Betty_

 

 

 

 

 

_4 January 1943_

_Betty,_

_We are currently in a small town in Germany, near Hanover. It is beautiful here – rolling hills as far as the eye can see, fields of flowers and quiet lakes. It is hard to believe that such a place exists, that a part of this country hasn’t been devastated by the war._

_I wish you could see how pretty it is, Betty. I know you would adore it._

_It is in this town that I read your last letter again, beneath a large oak tree, and cried at news of Reggie’s passing. He and I rarely saw eye to eye and I think I considered him more of an acquaintance  than a friend, yet the thought of him dying in this hell was too much for me to bare. It seems that in going to war, we finally had something in common. And now he is gone and I wept. Isn’t life strange?..._

 

 

 

 

 

_19 February 1943_

_Dearest Betty,_

_This letter has been particularly hard to write. I fear I am losing a part of myself that I have tried to hold onto for so long._

_I watched a man die today. I have been around dying men before – it is an unfortunate side-effect of war. However I have never witnessed the life slowly drain out of a person as they take their last breath. It is chilling to see and I will spare you the details, but I hope beyond measure that you will never see it._

_Jughead and the friends I have made are keeping me strong. While surrounded by men from all over the world, I have noticed how similar we all are. I’ve lived and worked with British, French, Australian, South African, Polish and Belgian soldiers, and formed bonds with them all. I hope, when the war is won, that we all remember these similarities…_

 

 

 

 

 

_~~19 February 1943~~ _

_~~Dearest Betty,~~ _

_~~On my worst days, I like to sit in a quiet spot, close my eyes and think of you. I think of your eyes and your lips and your golden hair. How you light up a room with a single smile and the flutter of your lashes when the sun beams down on your exquisite face.~~ _

_~~I didn’t lie when I said I would think of you, that the memory of your kiss would get me through. Because I do think of you, often, and those thoughts are the only bright spot in these long days~~ _

 

 

 

 

 

_19 February 1943_

_Dear Betty,_

_Today, for the first time in my life, I prayed. I have never been a church-going man and although my tag reads ‘P’ for protestant, it was merely a necessity. No tag can be without a religion. Yet I still found myself trying to communicate with God._

_I never truly knew fear until I went to war. It is astonishing, the emotions you experience. Even more unsettling is Archie. He has remained so strong throughout our time here. He is always motivating the others, rallying us together, but over the past week I have seen a light die inside of him and my fear has only increased._

_If men like Archie are terrified, what chance is there for the rest of us? I can only hope that God, if He is out there, was listening to me today._

_I would be grateful if you could provide a distraction. How are Polly and her twins? Are you still working at the library? What kind of pie does Pop serve now? The rationing must be so hard on him..._

 

 

 

 

 

_23 May 1943_

_Dearest Archie,_

_It has been a while since your last letter. I hope this finds you well._

_I have spent my day with my niece and nephew. They are so precious. Each and every smile they give me warms my heart. Polly seems so content, even with Jason gone. I know she misses him and worries about the twins growing up without their father, but they will be fine. I know it. They have Cooper blood, after all, and we are strong._

_I have just signed up to volunteer at a hospital in New Jersey. It is a less dangerous alternative to joining the Nurse Corps, and I still get to help the injured as they return home. I want to feel useful. I want to help._

_I know that you may not find the time but please do respond, if you have the chance. I am so worried about you, as are your parents, but I am trying to remain hopeful…_

 

 

 

 

 

0915AM JUNE 21 1943

MRS MARGARET K. MASON  
            79 CEDAR STREET RIVERDALE NJ

THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR HUSBAND STAFF SERGEANT MARDMADUKE MASON HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING IN ACTION SINCE TWELVE MAY OVER FRANCE IF FURTHER DETAILS OR OTHER INFORMATION ARE RECEIVED YOU WILL BE PROMPTLY NOTIFIED  
                                        ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL

 

 

 

 

 

_14 July 1943_

_Jughead,_

_It has been so long since I have heard from either you or Archie. I have been sick with worry and now I am not sure what to think. I pray every Sunday that you are both safe and simply unable to send any letters. The alternative is too painful to even contemplate._

_As promised, here is your distraction – today’s offerings at Pop’s were apple pie and pecan pie. Not my favorites, but Pop is using whatever fruit and fillings the townspeople are willing to share. I bought a slice of pecan and thought of you..._

 

 

 

 

 

Betty’s mother had discouraged her from joining the Army Nurse Corps. She said their town was losing enough people out on the battlefield without her willingly putting herself on the front line. She had been dismayed but unwilling to go against her wishes; had stayed in Riverdale and helped where she could.

So when the largest hospital in New Jersey asks for volunteers to treat wounded soldiers, Betty signs up immediately.

She works long hours, always on her feet, tending to the many men – some familiar to her –  that are brought into the wards. She witnesses true horrors, sights so gruesome that no human should ever have to see or experience them. So many of the men she treated left their home strong, young adults and returned broken, disfigured, tormented by the things they’d seen.

It is hard work and sometimes, when she returns home after a particularly difficult day, she curls up on her bed and cries for the people she has met. Her mother tells her she doesn’t have to do this, that there are plenty of other people willing to help. But then she thinks of Jughead and Archie – her favorite people who she hasn’t heard from in so long, who for all she knows could be severely wounded or _worse_ , and Betty knows she has to do this.

She wouldn’t want anyone to give up on them so she cannot give up either.

 

 

 

 

 

Late one night, when it is quiet on her ward, Betty tends to her sleeping patients and then takes respite in the little armchair in the corner. She cracks open her new book, _This Side of Paradise_ , and settles down with a cup of coffee. It was the only cup she could make with this month’s rations and Betty savored the treat.

She is only a chapter in when Josie rushes into the ward, eyes wide and frantic as she looks around for her.

“Betty!” she exclaims in a loud-whisper. She runs to her and takes her hand. “Come quick.”

Betty’s eyebrows draw together, wondering if this is just Josie’s dramatics.

“Josie, do you really need me? Is there no oth–“

“You need to come now,” she says firmly. “It’s Jughead. He’s here.”

Betty’s stomach drops and blood rushes in her ears.

“Jughead?” she repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” she responds. “Now come. I’ll send another nurse to this ward.” She squeezes her fingers. “He needs you.”

Betty runs from the room, feet moving as fast as they can as she sprints towards Josie’s ward. She knows it’s inappropriate and her behavior would be frowned upon, but all she can think about is getting there and seeing his face, real and _alive_.

Back in her ward, on the little end table beside her vacated chair, sit her book and a steaming cup of coffee, now forgotten.

 

 

 

 

 

Tears fill her eyes as soon as she sees him. He is laid out in a hospital bed, the doctor cutting through the dirty bandage covering his right calf. There are bruises and cuts all over his face, healing and scabbed over, his left eye is blood-shot and his cheek is swollen and yet somehow, he still looks like her old friend, like Jughead.

She rushes to his bedside and collapses on her knees in shock and relief. Her hand reaches out for his, gripping it tight.

“Juggie,” she sobs.

His eyes slide over to her and despite the swelling and the pain, he manages a tiny smile.

“Hey, Betts.” He pulls his hand from her grasp and reaches up with shaking fingers to touch the ends of her hair. “God am I glad to see you.”

She laughs through her tears and takes his hand again, presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Me, too,” she smiles. “I’ve missed you.”

He cries out in pain then, his whole face contorting. Betty looks over at the doctor and then down to the huge wound on his leg – a deep cut, almost to the bone. There has clearly been an attempt to treat it but she can see signs of infection, no doubt the cause of his pain. They need to act fast.

Two more nurses rush over then, ready to assist the doctor. She reluctantly steps away, pausing when he grips her fingers, a panicked look in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Juggie,” she assures him. “The doctor needs space to treat you, but I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods slowly and then releases her hand. She stumbles back, moving out of the way, and feels bile rise up in her throat at the sound of the sudden scream he lets out.

She has seen so much horror, so many upsetting things, but nothing is as awful as seeing him in pain.

 

 

 

 

 

He is lethargic and sleepy, the morphine finally doing its job. He is no longer hurting and she is so thankful for that, although she dreads the moment the hurt returns.

They performed surgery on his leg and the doctor thinks it went well. There is still work to be done – physical therapy and possibly re-learning the use of his legs. The doctor doesn’t believe he will ever walk without a limp but it’s a small price to pay for him to be here, alive, with all four of his limbs.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, running a damp towel across his sweaty forehead.

“Okay,” he answers. “Tired.”

“You should rest,” she tells him and places the towel on his bedside table. She beings to rise from her seat. “I’ll leave you.”

“No.” He reaches out, clutching her hand before she can leave. “Stay. Please.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, sitting back down. “I’ll stay.”

His fingers are still wrapped around hers and Betty thinks he is comforted by her touch. She lifts her free hand to his face and brushes back the mop of hair on top of his head. It is short around the sides – shorter than he’d ever worn it before, a military-issued cut – but the length on top is messy and unruly, like it always has been.

The nurses told her his regiment was just outside of Cologne, on their way to Frankfurt, when a missile had hit. Some had died but most were injured, and those who could no longer serve had been sent back to the US as soon as they were conscious and coherent. Jughead was one of those who could no longer serve and Archie… Well, she didn’t know what had happened to Archie.

“I saw him, Betts.”

Betty’s eyes dart down to this face, surprised.

“Saw who?”

“Archie,” he says, voice hoarse, as if reading her mind. “One minute he was in front of me and the next he was gone. There was so much smoke and dust, just everywhere. I couldn’t see anything,” he explains, voice becoming louder and higher. “I should have looked for him but I just… I couldn’t see _anything_ ,” he says, voice breaking on the last word.

“Shh,” she hushes him and begins to stroke his hair again. “It’s okay, Juggie. It isn’t your fault. You were hurt.”

“I let him down,” he cries, tears now slipping out of his eyes and rolling down his temples. “I should have looked for him but I was in so much pain, and I couldn’t stand… _Christ_ , I really let him down, Betts.”

“You didn’t,” she tries to assure him, tears welling up in her own eyes. “You couldn’t have looked for him. There was nothing you could do.”

“I’m sorry,” he cries, his grip on her fingers tightening as his emotions take over, anguished sobs wracking through his body. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you ever be sorry,” she tells him fiercely, somehow finding her voice through her sorrow. “You came back, you survived. And I will never be sorry to see your face again.”

She leans down to lay a kiss on his forehead and then presses her cheek against it, holding him close as he continues to cry. Her eyes squeeze shut and more tears fall, but even through her grief there is a part of her that is so happy to have him here, whole and complete, in her arms.

 


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all of the lovely feedback! your reviews have been a pleasure to read and i'm really loving the response to this story.
> 
> this chapter is much longer than the previous two. i got a little bit carried away, so please forgive any typos

Jughead’s first six months of recovery are long and difficult, but Betty is by his side every step of the way.

She is at every physical therapy session, working with the doctor to get his muscles working again and teaching him exercises that he can do at home. She is the one who teaches him to walk again with his new imbalance. His right leg will never work the way it used to, his left will always be dominant, and while it takes some getting used to, Jughead is just so thankful that he can look down and still see both of his legs.

Three months in, when he can walk independently with the help of a stick, his father gives him a job. Business at the distillery on the Southside of town hasn’t suffered during the war. In fact, during these stressful times, more people seem to be turning to the hard stuff, pooling together money to buy one bottle of bourbon for the month.

Working the machines is an easy task, one that he can do sitting down. It is during those days that he begins to feel some semblance of happiness again. He liked working, liked having something to do with his hands, and he also liked working with his father. In that little factory, in the poor part of town, the war almost seems like a distant memory.

Almost.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty is the first one to notice, ever observant.

“Are you sleeping, Jug?”

He shrugs, eyes focused on his notebook, even as his pen pauses mid-sentence.

“Sometimes.”

“ _Jughead_ ,” she says in a disapproving tone, and he looks up. Her eyebrows are drawn together in concern. “If you’re not sleeping, you should talk to someone. A doctor, maybe.”

“I’m not talking to anybody,” he snaps and pointedly ignores the hurt that colors her face. “I’ve heard what they do to soldiers, Betty. They shock them, hurt them. And it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t…” She sighs. “I _know_ you’re not crazy, but that doesn’t mean you’re okay either. You fought in a _war_ –“

“I know,” he interjects, tone short. “I was there.”

Silence settles over them, awkward and tense. When he looks over at her she is staring intently at her book, red splotches high on her cheeks. She is embarrassed by his temper and he instantly feels terrible.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I don’t mean to be angry with you, it’s just… You’re right. I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Juggie,” she murmurs, eyes softening. She reaches across the table to grasp his hand. “If something is bothering you, I want you to talk to me. We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”

He turns away from her to stare out of the window but doesn’t release her hand. He likes the comfort, the warmth. He had felt so little of that in the past year and he wasn’t going to take it for granted, ever again.

“I can’t stop seeing them,” he confesses, voice low. “Every night, when I close my eyes, I see those men – the ones who weren’t as lucky as me and didn’t get to come to their friends and family. And I feel so fucking _guilty_.”

Something unspoken lingers between them and they are both thinking of the same young man. It feels like lifetimes ago since they last saw him, his red hair glowing in the sunlight and his permanent grin in place.

“I know this doesn’t change anything but I, for one, am _so_ happy that you made it home,” she responds. “You being here, alive – I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.”

His eyes slide over to her then, a hint of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“I’m happy, too,” he assures her. “Or at least… I’m getting there.”

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas is a particularly hard time. For her, it is her second Christmas without Archie, but for him it is his first, and his absence has never been more apparent.

They spend their day with their families, going through the motions as they would any other year. Polly is at home this year with the twins, not wanting to spend the holiday alone in Connecticut. Betty is glad to have her there. Her mother was always a little less overbearing when she was around, perturbed by Polly’s willingness to call her out on her behavior and softened by her grandchildren.

On the twenty-sixth, she and Jughead walk up to the big hill on the Southside, where kids and adults from all over town have gathered to make the most of the recent snowfall. They spend their day building snowmen and throwing snowballs at each other, and it is easy and light and fun. They both know it is a distraction, even if neither of them acknowledges it. A day filled with juvenile activities keeps their mind off their very adult problems.

It isn’t until that evening, when they are sat in the distillery with Jughead’s father, that Archie is brought up.

Jughead pours out a glass of Whiskey for each of them and a fourth for their fallen friend, their missing puzzle piece.

He raises his glass in toast. “Merry Christmas, Arch.”

She smiles sadly and raises her own. “Merry Christmas, Archie.”

 

 

 

 

 

In April, they go to the town dance hall.

It is a monthly event that is meant to boost morale in the community. Betty went once before with Josie and some of the other nurses, but it had been during the painful stretch of time when she had received no correspondence from Jughead or Archie for months, and she couldn’t muster up the energy to dance.

This time is different. Jughead is back on his feet, walking unaided for longer periods of time, and while he isn’t quite ready for a night of dancing, he is interested in seeing some old faces.

“It’s not like I danced much before,” he reasons as they enter hall, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. “In some ways, nothing has changed.”

She smiles, nudges him with her hip. “I’ll get you dancing, Juggie.”

They sit at a table in the back with Dilton and Ethel, and some of her friends from work. Dilton shakes Jughead’s hand, his grip tight.

“You’re so brave, Jug. You did us proud.”

Jughead accepts the compliments with a tight smile. He’s never been good at receiving praise. Dilton is also being rather intense. It was no secret that he had been dishonorably discharged for misconduct. Only the Dilton family knew the details, but he had still been talked about when he came home, and felt some guilt over his not serving his country for as long as the other men in town.

“Jug, do you want to get a drink?” Betty interjects.

His smile is grateful. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Thanks,” he says as they wait at the bar for the drinks – two cans of the slightly unpleasant, generic soda that was now shipped into town. “Dilton was being a little too… much.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles. “I want us to have an easy, stress-free night, so no talk of the front.”

He nods, smiles. “Good. That sounds good.”

They return to their table and watch the crowd of dancing people for a while. Josie is out on the floor, twirling around and giggling. In fact, everyone out there seems carefree in a way she hasn’t seen in a long time. It is as if when they are dancing, they can forget about their troubles and the war and the people they have lost.

“Come on, Betty,” Josie demands, walking over and tugging at her hand. “Come dance.”

Her eyes dart over her to Jughead who smiles encouragingly.

“Go,” he grins. “Have fun.”

“I’ll go,” she agrees, a slow smile spreading across her face. “But only if you come with me.”

His smile drops. “Betts. I can’t dance.”

“Oh, _nonsense_. I know you can because I taught you and Archie when we were sixteen,” she points out. “And besides, it’s only one dance – I’m sure you can manage that.”

He sighs heavily and Betty knows she has won. “Fine. _One_ dance.”

She grins, pleased, and jumps up from her seat, following Josie out onto the dancefloor. She waits for Jughead in the middle of the crowd, laughing softly to herself when she sees the expression on his face as he approaches. Anyone would think he was being sent to the chair.

“Nice and slow,” she instructs, taking his hand in hers.

The song playing morphs into something quicker, more upbeat, and Betty twirls underneath his arm. He is smiling when she turns back, eyes bright with amusement as she continues to dance around him.

“You’re doing all of the work.”

“I don’t mind,” she insists, perfectly happy to take the lead.

She taps out the rhythm with her feet, swinging their linked hands between them. His feet tap too, although much slower than hers, and Betty spends most of her time twirling beneath his arm and back again, until she is spinning into his body, his arm wrapped around her waist and her free hand pressed against his chest. She smiles up at him, breathless and elated, and his answering smile is so pure and easy, the happiest she’s seen him since he returned to her.

Their eyes lock and she finds herself unable to look away, her hand still pressed against him as they stare at one another. His smile falls, expression changing into something more serious. His eyes flicker down to her lips and unconsciously, Betty’s tongue darts out to lick them.

Just as he leans in, ready to close the distance between them, someone stumbles into her from behind, sending her off-balance. He catches her before she falls, keeping her upright, and their moment is instantly broken.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, stepping back to straighten out her dress.

“No problem,” he replies, just as quiet.

She looks up at him then and his eyes quickly dart away, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Awkwardness settles over them and Betty quickly tries to lighten the mood.

“I told you, you could still dance,” she teases. “A few more months and you’ll be the next Fred Astaire.”

He rolls his eyes, lips quirking up at the edges. “Let’s not get carried away, Betts.”

 _No_ , she thinks. _Let’s not._

 

 

 

 

 

The sky is a bright, cloudless blue, and the temperature is so warm that it already feels like summer. Betty and Jughead decide to make the most of the weather and ride down to Sweetwater. It feels strange, going there just the two of them, but somehow, Betty also feels more connected to Archie. The pretty, little field held so many wonderful memories for them and she could never go there without thinking of him and his childish freckles and his infectious laugh.

They spend their day stretched out across Betty’s picnic blanket and eating the lunch she packed for them both. Betty is making her way through a new novel, _Gone With the Wind_ , and Jughead is writing in his journal. He doesn’t always share his entries, something he had done in the past. She knows he writes about the war and things he saw. She hopes, one day, he will allow her to read about his experiences.

“I’m going down to the river,” he announces late into the afternoon, the sun low in the sky. “Are you coming?”

“Sure.”

She dusts off the back of her dress as she stands and follows him down to the riverbank. He slips off his shoes and socks and rolls up his pants, before stepping into the shallow water. She follows suit, slipping out of her shoes and stockings. She sees Jughead avert his eyes as she reaches up beneath her dress and smiles to herself.

“You want a rock like this,” he tells her, holding up the one in his hand. “Smooth and flat, easier to skim the water with.”

She looks down at the collection around their feet and selects one that she thinks is a suitable shape.

“Like this?” she asks, holding it out for him to inspect.

“Yeah. That’s good.”

She watches him throw his rock, making note of his posture and technique. It bounces across the river, three spots forming in the water before it falls.

She mimics his pose and throws her own rock, mouth turning down into a frown as it bounces only once and then sinks.

“It’s okay,” he smiles. “You’ll get the hang of it. You just need to practice.”

As they stand at the bank throwing stone after stone, Betty thoughts wander – as they often did these past few weeks – to their night at the dance hall. She can recall the strong thump of her heart so clearly, the soft look in his eyes as he looked down at her.

She had wanted him to kiss her that night; had thought about it near-constantly ever since. It wouldn’t have been the first kiss they shared – that memory still troubles and excites her – but that hadn’t stopped him from pretending the moment had never happened.

They had made a habit of it – pretending that those moments didn’t exist. During the time he was gone, her thoughts had returned to their kiss more often than she’d like to admit. She had thought about it during her solitary days in this very field, sighing out loud as she remembered the pressure of his lips against hers. And sometimes, when she was alone in her room, in the dead of night, she would think of the noise he made when she kissed him back, and her hand would slip beneath her nightdress and inside her underwear.

That night he had told her that the memory would get him through his time on the front. Betty hadn’t expected it would also be the thing that helped _her_ during that long, lonely stretch.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” she asks, eyes focused on the stone he has just skimmed across the water. “The night before you left?”

There is a beat of silence and Betty’s eyes flicker over to him, wondering if he missed what she had said. His eyes are also focused straight ahead and there is a furrow to his brow.

Finally, he responds. “I remember.”

“And did you?” she asks, voice quieter now. “Think of me?”

“Of course I did.” His voice is husky, low. “Some days you were all I could think about.”

Betty’s heart clenches in her chest, the way it had that night in the dance hall, and this time she knows she has to do something. She doesn’t want to remain in this tension any longer, ignoring the way she truly feels.

She reaches out and lays her hand on his cheek, turns his face until his eyes meet hers. He is quiet, gaze flickering across her face, searching for something – she doesn’t know what – before they finally settle on her mouth. She leans up on her tiptoes then and pushes forward, closing the space between them and pressing her lips to his.

He sighs into her mouth, his whole body sagging against her before his hands reach up to clutch her waist and pull her closer. She moves her mouth against his; slow, purposeful, unrushed. Kissing Jughead brings her a contentment she has never felt before, as if all is right in the world as long as his lips are pressed to hers.

She pulls away slowly but her eyes remain closed, not quite ready for the moment to end. She feels and hears the shuddering breath he releases and her lips quirk up into a soft smile. Water laps at her bare feet, birds sing sweetly in the surrounding trees, and Betty will never, ever forget this moment for as long as she lives.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty used to daydream about a summer love affair; bike rides on warm afternoons, trading ice-cream and kisses, grass-stained skirts from hours spent lying together by the river, and watching the sun set over town.

As a teenager, Archie had always been beside her in those fantasies, handsome and dreamy and exactly the kind of boyfriend she wished he could be. Of course, he could never live up to those expectations – what they shared wasn’t quite love and he just wasn’t the boyfriend she dreamed about, who loved Steinbeck and Katharine Hepburn and exploring old bookstores on weekends.

Now, she was finally experiencing it – a summer of falling in love – and it was with someone else entirely, someone completely unexpected.

Jughead wasn’t the man of her dreams either, but in so many ways, he was better. His kisses were sweet but wicked, leaving her tingling all over and wanting things her mother told her she shouldn’t. He liked to drive them to Greendale in his father’s car, to buy spy novels and turn his nose up at her selection of _East of Eden_. He’d buy it for her anyway, with the money he earned at the distillery, and always with a little smile on his face. And while he never understood her love for Katharine Hepburn, he did like Cary Grant, and took her to the movie theater on her birthday to see _The Philadelphia Story_.

He wasn’t the man she fantasized about but he was better because he was _real_ , tangible, a person she had a true connection with. There were bad days – Jughead solitary and silent, a permanent frown on his face and a determined unwillingness to discuss his nightmares. But there were good days, too – _so many_ good days, which left Betty feeling like she was floating on air, her lips red and kiss-bruised and her chest warm with affection.

It is so easy to be with Jughead. It is the way it should have been with Archie – best friends who have become more – but she didn’t like to compare the two. She would always treasure her time with Archie but what she and Jughead have is completely different. It isn't polite displays of affection and a sense of comfort. It is intense and beautiful, and Betty knows it would destroy her if it were to end.

 

 

 

 

 

It is two weeks after their kiss that Betty removes her engagement ring. A pang of guilt stabs through her chest when she locks it away in her jewelry case but she tries her best to ignore it. Archie was gone and she was slowly learning to accept that. Clinging onto the past would only make everything hurt more.

Jughead never mentions the change but she knows he notices. They are lying in the field beside Sweetwater one day – a scenario plucked straight from her fantasies – her head resting on his chest and their linked hands resting on his stomach. It is quiet, peaceful, and Betty is so content that it takes her a minute to register the slow movement of his thumb, sliding over her bare ring finger.

She tenses up, preparing for questions she doesn’t know how to answer, but there are none. He is silent, his thumb continuing its movement and his chest rising and falling steadily beneath her cheek. She wonders what he is thinking, if he is feeling some guilt of his own, regrets over stealing his best friend’s girl.

“Juggie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She smiles at the endearment and turns until they are face-to-face, her chin resting on his chest. He looks down at her with a fond smile, looking nearly as content as she feels.

“How long have you... wanted this to happen?”

“You and me?” She nods. “A long time,” he responds instantly. “I’m not even sure _when_ it started, but I know I’ve had these feelings for as long as I can remember.”

“Even when I was with Archie?” she ask quietly.

He smiles sadly. “Even then.”

She sighs. “I wish I had known. Things could have been so different.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “Or maybe not. What matters is that you know now, and that we are here, together.”

She smiles and leans forward to kiss him, soft and slow. She couldn’t agree more.

 

 

 

 

 

When Jughead tells her he has a surprise for her, she is initially cautious. She was a romantic to her core but a planner by nature, so when Jughead ties a scarf around her eyes and drives them to an unknown location, she can’t help but feel nervous.

“Just a few more steps,” he assures her as he guides her from the car, his hands on her waist. She almost trips but he catches her before she falls, his presence secure and warm behind her.

“Okay, stop here,” he instructs, and squeezes her waist before he reaches up to untie the scarf.

The fabric falls from her eyes and it takes Betty a moment to adjust. She blinks, taking in her surroundings and gasps when she sees the set-up in the center of the room – blankets and pillows forming a makeshift bed, and candles surrounding it to give the dark room some light. Her eyes dart around, trying to determine where they are. She turns to him.

“Juggie... Is this…”

“The old house you love by the river,” he answers, eyes impossibly soft and a little smile on his lips. “I wanted us to have somewhere special, somewhere we could be alone.”

Tears immediately spring to her eyes and she pushes up on her toes to kiss him, her arms winding around his neck.

“Thank you,” she murmurs when she pulls away, her thumbs stroking along his neck. “This is beautiful.”

The smile he gives her is equally as beautiful. He kisses her again, just a peck, and then takes her hand.

“Come on,” he says. “You can take me around, show me how it would be if it was yours.”

So she does, their hands linked as she leads him around the two-storey home and tells him exactly how she would decorate it; white paint on the exterior and blue on the shutters, a traditional kitchen with white wooden cabinets, hardwood floors, colorful rugs and vases of flowers in every room, and a little table on the back porch that overlooks the garden.

“Can you imagine it?” she says wistfully as they stand on the porch, looking out to the river at the end of the yard. “Waking up every morning and having breakfast right here. It would be the perfect way to start the day, don’t you think?”

Jughead wraps his arm around her shoulders, and pulls her in close to press a kiss to her temple. “I think that sounds incredible.”

 

 

 

 

 

They have supper on the mass of blankets and pillows, eating sandwiches and snacks from the picnic basket Jughead has packed.

“How long have you been planning this?” she asks as they clear away their empty plates.

He shrugs, nonchalant. “A little while.”

“Hey.” She tugs at his hand until he turns to look at her. She leans forward to kiss him. “Thank you, again. Who knew Jughead Jones was such a romantic?”

His blue eyes sparkle as he replies, “I guess you bring out the worst in me, Betts.”

She giggles and slaps at his chest, and he catches her hand before she can pull it away, pressing her palm flat against his chest. She can feel his heart beating fast beneath her hand and accepts the kiss he gives her with a contented sigh.

They kiss for a while, a fervent press of lips and tongues. She falls back against the pillows, pulling him with her, his weight settling over her. His hands sweep across her knee and then up beneath her dress, and across her bare thigh. It is thrilling and intimate and Betty only wants more.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, eyes flickering across her face, looking for any sign of hesitance.

She nods, licks her lips, and parts her legs. He follows her lead, settling between them until she can feel him pressed against her. He is hard, the way Polly said men are when they want to make love to you. A nervous flutter passes through her belly at that thought, but there is excitement too. She wants that, wants them to be as physically close as any two people can be.

“Should we… should we take our clothes off?” she asks softly.

“If you want to,” he replies, voice shaky.

They untangle themselves and sit back on the blanket. Betty unbuttons her dress with shaking fingers, anticipation and nerves coursing through her body. She has never been naked in front of another person and while she is worried that he won’t like everything he sees, she wants him to see all of her.

She removes her dress and folds it neatly beside the picnic basket, and then reaches up to remove her bra, laying the fabric on top of her other clothing. Beside her, she hears Jughead’s sharp in-take of breath, and turns to find him staring at her.

“What is it?” she asks self-consciously.

“You are so beautiful, Betty,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke the backs of his fingers across her arm. “So beautiful.”

“So are you,” she replies, hands sweeping across the smooth planes of his chest and shoulders.

He is on her then, his mouth sweeping across her lips, her jaw, her neck, her breasts, as he settles back into the cradle of her thighs. The feel of his warm skin against hers sends a shiver of excitement through her body and an ache between her thighs, and when his lips close over her nipple, she releases a sound she’s never made before.

“Make love to me, Juggie,” she whispers as he kisses along the column on her throat.

He pulls back to look at her, expression serious. He sweeps her hair back from her face.

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I’m sure.”

He pulls away to grab something from his belongings and Betty instantly misses his weight, his warmth. When he returns he is holding a small package that she has never seen before.

She frowns. “What is that?”

“It’s a condom,” he replies, looking slightly embarrassed. “The army issues them to all soldiers. They, uh… they stop you from getting pregnant.”

She blinks, cheeks flushing. “Oh.”

She hadn’t thought about that. She had been so swept up in the moment that she hadn’t even considered the consequences of what they were about to do. And she really didn’t want to have a baby right now.

They both remove their underwear and Betty watches as he rolls the condom over his erection. It is red and looks almost painful. Intruiged, Betty reaches out to touch it and Jughead groans, jerking forward into her hand.

“Does that feel good?” she asks, wrapping her fingers around him.

He nods, teeth pressing into his bottom lip. “Really good.”

He pushes her back then and lies between her legs again. She gasps as he brushes up against her, touching her where she is most sensitive. Jughead reaches down to touch her with his fingers, drawing more sounds of pleasure from her mouth.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises, and she can feel the tip of him pressing against her.

She takes a deep breath and tries to relax. There is a slight burn as he slides inside, more uncomfortable than painful, and her legs tighten around him in response. When he is fully seated inside of her, he moans quietly, his head buried in her neck.

“I’m okay, Juggie,” she whispers, hands sweeping across his back, encouraging him to move.

He pulls his hips back and then push forward again, moving within her. The fullness is strange and unfamiliar, but when the pain subsides it begins to feel good, and unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Above her, Jughead is lost in sensation, hips snapping forward again and again, and groans tearing from his throat. His breath is hot on her skin and his right hand is curled around her hair, and he releases a long, drawn-out moan as his movements slow and then finally stop.

He is panting, breathless, face still pressed into her shoulder. Betty reaches up to run her fingers through his hair and then turns to press her face against it, nuzzling into him. She kisses him softly behind the ear and smiles. She has never known intimacy like this.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty can’t wipe the grin from her face as she returns home. She closes the door softly behind her, not wanting to alert her parents. As she passes the mirror in the hallway she pauses, inspects her reflection. There is a flush to her cheeks and a new brightness to her eyes, but she still looks the same. She had always thought there would be a noticeable change when she finally had sex – some visible sign that she was no longer innocent. She is both relieved and disappointed to see that isn’t true.

As she walks towards the stairs she notes the soreness between her legs. That was a new sensation, and not a pleasant one, although it is a physical reminder of what she has just done; of what _they_ have just done.

“Elizabeth.”

She pauses on the bottom stoop, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. She turns and sees her mother in the living room, sitting in one of the armchairs.

“Can you sit?” she asks. “We need to talk.”

Betty lets out a quiet sigh but follows her orders, and takes a seat in the adjacent chair. There is a moment of silence and Betty waits for her to begin.

“Can this wait until tomorrow?” she finally asks. “I’m really tired.”

“This won’t take long. I just…” She purses her lips, considers her next words. “Betty, you know I like Forsythe. I think he is a sweet boy, despite his circumstances, and he has been such a good friend to you.”

Betty frowns. “Okay…”

“I ran into Mrs Klump at the grocery yesterday and she told me something... surprising,” she begins. “She said you and Forsythe have been seen around town – holding hands and _necking_.”

Betty swallows thickly. “Mother, it isn’t–“

“I know the three of you – you, Forsythe and Archie – have always been close,” she says, speaking over her, “but I worry that without Archie around, you two have become _too_ close.”

“We’re friends,” she insists. Even if that isn’t the whole truth, she is irritated by her mother’s interference and implications. “We’ve always been friends. That hasn’t changed because Archie is no longer here.”

“I understand that, Betty, but people are beginning to talk,” Alice says, a disapproving frown pinching her brows. “You are engaged to another man. Don’t you see how inappropriate this is?”

Betty frustrations boil over. “Archie is _gone_ , mother,” she snaps, tears springing to her eyes. “He is gone and I am trying to move on. I can’t spend the rest of my days mourning him.” She licks her lips, tastes the salt of her tears. “And even if he wasn’t, I would still want to be with Jughead.”

“This is nonsense, Elizabeth,” Alice says dismissively. “You and Archie were so _in love_ –”

“We were never in love,” she interjects, and her mother's eyes widen. “I love – _loved_ Archie, but I never loved him the way you wanted me to. Not the way I love Jughead,” she adds quietly.

“You’re being fickle and childish,” Alice retorts, a bite to her tone and all pretence of calm disappeared. “You’re forgetting everything you and Archie shared for the sake of a summer fling.”

“Do not _ever_ tell me I am forgetting Archie,” she says through gritted teeth, fresh tears spilling over. “I will _never_ forget him. Ever. But I think we should address what is really happening here.”

“I don’t know what you me–“

“You don’t want me to be with someone like Jughead, someone who grew up on the wrong side of town. And it is so _stupid_ , because you couldn’t find a man more sweet, or smart, or caring than Jughead.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, Betty’s face still wet and throat tight. She is crying out of frustration, grief, anger. Her mother has always tried to control her and even now, during a time when people were losing so much and were desperately seeking happiness, she couldn’t allow her to be happy if it wasn’t on her terms.

Her face morphs into an emotionless, blank canvas. “You’re acting hysterical, Elizabeth. I think you should go to bed.”

“Gladly,” she snaps, and leaves the room quickly, not wanting to spend another second in her presence.

 

 

 

 

 

She tries to put her conversation with her mother to the back of her mind but it doesn’t really work. She has felt a lingering trickle of guilt since she and Jughead first kissed but with her mother’s words ringing in her ears, it is harder to ignore. _Was_ she forgetting the relationship she and Archie had shared?

The guilt weighs so heavily on her that she grows distant from Jughead. She spends less time with him, making excuses when he asks if he can see her, and only offering him chaste kisses while they both long for more.

Two weeks after their night at the lake house, Jughead grows tired of her distance.

“Is it the sex?” he asks bluntly as they stroll along the river bank. “Do you regret it because we’re not married?”

“No!” she is quick to respond, coming to an abrupt stop. “No,” she repeats, quieter, hands reaching up to cup his face. “I could never regret what happened between us. But...” She sighs, looks away. “I had a conversation with my mother. She knows about us and while I didn’t expect her to be happy, she said something that has really upset me.”

“What was it?” he asks, voice low.

“She suggested that I’m _forgetting_ Archie,” she responds, blinking back the sudden tears that form in her eyes. “And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I mean, is that what we’re doing? Are we betraying him?”

Jughead swallows back the emotion that arises whenever his best friend is mentioned.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Sometimes I have the same thoughts and I wonder if we are. But… I’m happy, Betty, for the first time in so long. _This_ ,” he says, raising their joined hands, “makes me happy. And after all the horror we’ve now seen in this world, aren’t we allowed a little bit of happiness?”

A tear rolls down Betty’s cheek as she nods, teeth biting at the corner of her lip.

“You make me happy, too,” she says, the smallest of smiles tilting her lips. “I didn’t know I could ever be this happy.”

He eyes are bright and beautiful as he surges forward to kiss her.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on her hand, and nods towards the field stretching out behind them.

They lie out on the grass, curled up in one another’s arms as they trade soft kisses. Her hand slips beneath the collar of his shirt, tracing across his skin, and his slide along her legs and over her dress, fingers skirting around the hem until they finally dip beneath.

“Can I try something?” he whispers between kisses to her neck.

It is just them here but she also keeps her voice low, intimate.

“Okay,” she whispers back, trusting him completely.

He kisses his way down her body, across her collarbones and her cleavage, and the fabric covering her stomach. He gathers the skirt of her dress in his hands and pushes it up until her legs are exposed. She leans up on her elbows as he begins to slide her underwear down her legs, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Trust me,” he says, eyes meeting hers as he looks up at her from between her legs. And with their eyes still connected, he turns and presses a kiss to her inner thigh. “I used to think about this all the time,” he confesses, voice husky.

The first touch of his tongue has Betty whimpering, crying out. Her fingers sink into his hair, pulling at the strands as he licks and sucks at her. She can feel something building, low in her stomach, a feeling that had been only a whisper when they had made love, but was now loud and beautiful and ready to consume her.

“Juggie,” she moans, high and breathy, as pleasure courses through her body. It's a feeling she’s never experienced before, taking her higher than she’s ever been.

 

 

 

 

 

There is a spring in her step when she returns home that evening. She feels lighter than she has in days, her fight with her mother no longer hanging over her head like a dark cloud.

She thinks back to her afternoon, Jughead's mouth between her thighs and then him inside of her, making her feel wicked and alive. They were getting better at it and she was learning to love the act of making love, the feel of him inside of her and all around her. She smiles to herself and reaches up to skim her fingers across the soft skin behind her ear, a spot Jughead loved to kiss.

As soon as she is inside and the door is closed behind her, her father calls out, “Betty?”

“Yes?” she replies, following the sound of his voice to the kitchen.

He is seated at the dining table, her mother beside him, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“We have some news, darling.” He is smiling, clearly excited. “The Andrews received a telegram this morning. It’s Archie,” he says, smile widening. “He’s been found, wounded but alive. He’s coming home.”

Betty’s stomach drops, the feeling so swift and sudden that she thinks she might vomit. She can’t look at her mother, can’t face the disapproval and knowing expression. Instead, she gives him the most convincing smile she can, the smile her father is expecting, even while tears prick at the corners of her eyes. 

“That’s amazing news.”

 


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more angst comin' at ya
> 
> thank you, once again, for all of the wonderful comments & kudos! <3

It is a week before Archie returns home and in that time Betty doesn’t see Jughead.

Her mother doesn’t question her request to tell him she is busy if he calls, and Alice is more than happy to turn Jughead away when he knocks on the door. The guilt she feels is almost overwhelming but she knows it isn’t just guilt over ignoring him – there is also guilt over Archie, and that is what keeps her away.

The morning after he comes home, Betty is up bright and early and jogging over to the Andrews home.

Mary smiles when she opens the door. “We’ve been expecting you. He’ll be so happy to see you.”

She runs up the stairs, almost tripping on the top stoop in her haste, but stops short in the doorway of his bedroom. Archie is propped up in his bed, a stack of pillows behind him, and beside him, in a chair, is Jughead.

He sees her first, as if sensing her presence, and turns to look at her. His expression is strangely blank but she can see the emotion in his eyes – relief probably, at Archie’s return, or maybe the same guilt she was feeling.

Archie follows Jughead’s line of sight and a huge smile stretches across his face.

“Betty!”

She rushes over to him, engulfing him in a tight hug as soon as she is close enough. He grunts at the contact and she quickly pulls back, eyes wide.

“Oh, God, Archie–“

“It’s okay,” he assures her, placing a hand on her knee as she takes a seat beside him. “I’m just a little sore from the trip home.”

She takes his hand in hers, grips it tight. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine.” His smile is fond if not a little exasperated. He squeezes her fingers. “Although I can think of one thing that would make me feel better.”

“Anything.”

“Can I get a kiss?”

Betty’s mouth goes dry and her eyes dart over to Jughead. He is pointedly looking away but she can see the firm set of his jaw, the harsh line of his mouth.

“Sure,” she replies quietly and leans forward to brush her lips against his, barely a peck.

Archie seems satisfied with the minimal contact and Betty is relieved. 

“So what happened?” she asks, trying to steer the conversation. “Where have you been?”

As Archie describes the difficult year he has endured, Betty’s eyes well up with tears. He had been hit during the explosion that had wounded Jughead, shrapnel lodging itself in his arm and leg, and taking two of the fingers on his right hand. It is only then that Betty notices the bandage on his hand.

“I crawled to a safe spot behind a barn and I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in a house I didn’t recognize.”

Jughead frowns. “Did somebody take you in?”

Archie nods. “A German family, the Kleins. They found me in the field and took me back to their home. They cleaned my wounds, removed the shrapnel, gave me a bed for almost a year until I had fully recovered. They were incredible.”

A sob tears from Betty’s throat and she covers her mouth quickly.

“Hey, hey,” Archie murmurs, reaching out to stroke her arm. “Don’t cry, Betts. I’m home, it’s all okay.”

“I know,” she cries. “It’s just – they were so _nice_. Taking you in and taking care of you. They saved your life, Arch.”

“I know and nothing I do could ever repay that kindness.”

Jughead releases a harsh breath, his head dropping forward.

“What’s wrong?” Archie asks, concerned.

“Nothing,” he mutters, brow furrowed. “I guess… I’m just angry at myself. A family of strangers helped you more than I ever could.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Archie snaps, now annoyed. “I’m not going to let you blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done. Do you hear me?” Jughead doesn’t lift his head, eyes still trained on the floor. “Jug, do you hear me?”

He nods, voice weak as he replies, “I hear you.”

“No more guilt and no more tears,” Archie demands, a little smile forming as he looks between both of them. “This is a happy occasion. I’m home and I’m finally seeing my two favorite people. I’ve got nothing to be sad about. Not anymore.”

They both nod and Betty offers him a watery smile. She could pretend, for him. If that’s what he needed, she could pretend. But it wouldn’t stop the guilt from burrowing into her heart and settling there, uncomfortable and heavy.

 

 

 

 

 

Two weeks later, the Andrews throw a party at the dance hall to celebrate Archie’s return. It is a joyous occasion with people all over town arriving to see the Andrews boy, the former star quarterback, safe at home once again.

For Betty, the party is a strange sort of déjà vu. It feels very reminiscent of the leaving party. She had spent so much of her time, before the proposal, standing in corners alone as she observed the other guests and chatted with Jughead. There are big differences between that time and now – there were so many faces missing from the crowd, faces that she would never see again, and talking to Jughead was not an option when she was avoiding him – but she is still standing in corners, quiet and lonely.

The weeks since Archie’s homecoming have been some of the most confusing of Betty’s life. She has never felt such conflicting emotions – elation at seeing him again and knowing he is alive, and misery over the distance between her and Jughead, and their betrayal. Even as the guilt weighs on her, she misses him terribly, desperately. 

She leans back against the wall, a glass of water in hand, and watches Archie talk animatedly with her father and Harold Blossom. To anyone else he is the same Archie, bubbly and outgoing, always smiling. But Betty can see the ways the war has changed him, the new hardness to his eyes and his shorter temper. He snaps at people now when he is frustrated and grows irritable when his mother fusses over him. The old Archie was never like that.

Something prickles at her, a feeling, as if she is being watched. She moves her gaze around the room, breath catching as her eyes land on Jughead. He is stood by the bar, posture slumped and face drawn, and staring directly at her.

She looks away quickly, stomach twisting into knots. She drinks from her glass, draining it in one long gulp, and places it on the nearest table before exiting the hall. The water is a shock, cold as it slides down her throat, but she welcomes it. The air outside is hot and oppressive – the last of the summer heat – and Betty is already overheating.

She takes a few deep breaths, head tipping back against the rough brick exterior. She closes her eyes, trying to calm herself. She doesn't know how much longer she can do this – the lying, the secret-keeping – and especially when Jughead was making it so hard. She understands his frustrations and imagines he probably feels as miserable as she does, but couldn’t he see that this was how it had to be? They had been lying to themselves all summer and reality had now returned, harsh and cruel.

“Betty.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice and when she opens them again, she finds him stood in front of her, eyes soft and sad and so tired. They are alone, away from the rest of the party, and it all feels so familiar, like that night back in ’41, except this time she feels sick for entirely different reasons.

“I should get back inside.”

Jughead places his hand against the wall, blocking her path.

“Please stop ignoring me, Betty,” he pleads quietly. “I can’t bare it.”

Betty looks up at him then, their eyes meeting, and she immediately feels like crying.

“I’m sorry but it has to be this way.”

“Because of Archie?”

“He’s been through so much,” she responds. “We can’t hurt him anymore.”

“And what about what I’ve been through? What _you’ve_ been through?” he counters, voice still soft but a new edge to his tone. “I fought too, Betts. I watched people die. And you had to stay here, all alone, not knowing where your best friends were or if they were alive.”

“It’s not the same,” she snaps, a tear sliding down her cheek. “He’s been away for so long.”

His eyes narrow. “Do you think he won’t notice that his two closest friends no longer speak, that they can’t even be in the same room together? And what about the town gossip? Mrs Klump sure loves to talk.”

She looks away, unable to respond.

“And your wedding night?” he asks, taking her left hand in his and running his thumb across the ring that was there, once again. “Will you fake it? Will you pretend that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’ve never experienced it before? That you’ve never felt another man’s touch?”

Her anger boils over, his crudeness working her last nerve.

“We forgot about him for a whole year!” she yells, pulling her hand from his. “A whole damn year. We were wandering around town all summer, acting as if he wasn’t missing, like there wasn’t a part of our group that was _gone_. We were fooling ourselves, Jughead.”

“We were falling in love!” he snaps, his eyes now glistening with tears as his anger peaks. “I know I didn’t imagine it,” he adds, voice softer. He leans closer, eyes flickering between hers. “Tell me I didn’t imagine it.”

She swallows back the sudden lump in her throat.

“I have to go back inside,” she says, voice quiet but firm.

He reaches out for her as she pushes past him. “Betty, wait–“

“ _Don’t_.” She shakes her head. “Don’t say anything else.”

She steps back inside and walks straight into the bathroom. Her face is a mess, tear-stained cheeks and lips swollen from crying. She runs her hands through the cold water and presses her cool fingertips against her cheeks, trying to wash away the evidence.

She stares at her reflection for a long moment and one thought comes to mind. _He didn’t imagine it. Not at all._

 

 

 

 

 

Archie is waiting for her outside of the bathroom and catches her elbow as she leaves.

“Betty, are you alright?”

She nods, forces a smile. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs. “I saw you and Jughead go outside together and when he came back he looked really mad. Did you have a fight?”

“Just a little disagreement,” she replies, trying to downplay it. “Nothing to worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, thick eyebrows pulling together.

“I’m sure,” she lies. She pushes up on her toes and kisses his cheek. “But thank you for your concern. Should we go back in?”

She takes his hand and leads him back into the main hall, missing the way Archie’s frown deepens. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his gut. He just didn’t know what.

 

 

 

 

 

Months pass, and for the most part, she grows accustomed to pretending everything is fine. After their fight, Jughead spends a lot of time working at the distillery, and when he is around, he avoids any situation where they are alone, only talking to her when Archie is around.

It hurts, she can’t deny that. When she thinks about the intimacy between them only four months ago and the way they are now – almost strangers – she wants to burst into tears. But she tells herself, again and again, that this is for the best. She would be over it soon enough. One day, she would stop missing him.

It is only a matter of weeks before their parents begin to pressure them. Her mother is the first, dropping hints into the conversation when Archie comes over for dinner, asking them what they think of a spring wedding and if they preferred the large church in Riverdale or the smaller one in Greendale. She and Archie manage to deflect most of her questions and change the subject, but everything changes when Mrs Andrews begins adding to the pressure. She arranges a visit to Riverdale’s church and asks them to come with her.

“It’s about time you set a date,” she tells them. “We need to get you kids married.”

As they walk around the church, Betty’s arm linked through Archie’s, she begins to feel overwhelmed. Being there, talking to the pastor, discussing decorations with her mother and Mrs Andrews – its makes everything very real, and up until this point, their engagement had felt like a distant, abstract thing.

“Such a beautiful church,” her mother observes, then turns to her. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she smiles tightly. “Beautiful.”

“I’ve been told you were high school sweethearts,” Pastor Thomas says, smiling. “It’s so wonderful that you want to make this commitment to each other. You're blessed to have found love so young and after all of the hardships you’ve faced.”

Betty nods and smiles, not sure how to respond. She can feel her mother’s sharp gaze, waiting for her to reply. Thankfully, Archie replies instead, a wide smile on his face as he says, “Yes. We have been blessed.”

Archie leads her away to see more of the church, leaving their mothers to chat with the pastor. As they walk down the nave, tears suddenly spring to her eyes, and she feels ridiculous. She blinks them away quickly, unsure as to why she is crying. Archie pauses before the main doors of the church and turns to face her, his hands on her forearms as he looks her in the eye.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks, straight to the point. “Because you can tell me if you are.”

She frowns, shakes her head. “Why are you–“

“We were apart for a long time, Betty. If your feelings have changed, I’ll understand,” he assures her. “But you need to tell me now, before we start making any plans.”

His expression is open and vulnerable, and Betty can hear the sadness in his voice as he speaks. He is giving her a way out, a chance to end all of this, and she should take it, she knows she should. But the thought of disappointing him, of breaking his heart, makes Betty feel sick. She couldn’t do that to him. And besides, where would that leave her? She couldn’t be with Jughead. Even if they broke off their engagement, it would still hurt Archie to learn of their betrayal.

There was too much at stake. Hurting Archie, disappointing their families, facing life alone – it all sounded so awful. And she and Archie could have a good life together - not the life she necessarily wanted, but definitely a good one. This was the best option for everyone.

“This is what I want,” she tells him, and that afternoon, they set a date.

 

 

 

 

 

She startles when the first rock hits her window. She places her book on her bedside table and approaches the window, frowning. Was it Archie? He hadn’t thrown rocks at her window since they were children, when her mother told her she wasn’t allowed to go outside in her new dress. She pulls the drapes aside and looks down, surprised to see Jughead below, stood on the grass beneath her window and looking up at her.

She pushes the window pane up and hisses, “Jughead? What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you,” he says, voice too-loud in the quiet night.

“Keep your voice down! My parents will hear you.” She glances over at Archie’s bedroom window and is relieved to see the lights are out. She looks down at him again and sighs. “I’m coming down.”

She tiptoes down the stairs and out of the front door, closing it softly behind her. When she steps onto the porch Jughead is already there, eye glassy and hair unkempt and scruffy. He stumbles towards her, his limp more pronounced that unusual, and it is then that Betty recognizes the change in him. He was drunk.

She folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you here?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

“I had to see you,” he mumbles. "I miss you so much, Betty. It’s killing me.”

Her gaze falls to the ground. “Jug, please don’t do this.”

“How am I supposed to see you with him?” he cries, words slurred. “How am I supposed to be without you?” Tears sting her eyes but she still doesn’t look at him. She feels him step closer, his voice scratchy as he declares, “You shouldn’t be with him, Betts. You don’t love him like you love me. I know you don’t.”

She brushes a tear away and when she finally looks up, she sees he is also crying, his face blotchy and wet. She reaches out to brush his hair away from his face and his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“You need to go home, Jug. You can’t be here.” She pulls her hand away and sighs. “Come on, I’ll drive you. We can take my dad’s car.”

She steals her father’s keys and prays her parents remain asleep until she returns home. With an arm wrapped around his waist, she guides Jughead to the car, his body heavy against hers. It is a struggle to get him inside but he manages to regain some control, and climbs up into the passenger seat.

Within minutes, he is asleep, his head dropping back against the seat as she drives them through Riverdale’s quiet streets. Her eyes flicker over to him every so often, checking on him, and as they approach the south-side of town, he begins to mumble in his sleep, soft muttering that she strains to hear.

“Please,” he cries out. “Please, no…”

He sniffles, throws his head to the side, and then a sob breaks through. In that moment, her heartbreaks all over again, her vision blurry as she stares out at the road and tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

 

 

 

 

 

FP’s eyebrows raise in surprise as soon as he opens the door. “Betty?”

She tries and fails to smile. “Hi, Mr Jones.”

“What’s going on? It’s late.”

“It’s Jughead,” she replies. “He came to my house, he’s drunk. He’s in the car but he’s asleep now, and I don’t think I can carry him on my own.”

FP’s face falls. “Oh, okay. I’ll come help you.”

They each throw one of Jughead’s arms over their shoulders and drag him from the car and up to the trailer. As they reach the wooden steps leading up to the door, FP gives her a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay, Betty. I can take him from here. You should go home.”

She nods, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She brushes her hand across the back of Jughead’s head in a soft, comforting gesture and then pulls away entirely. She had to leave now, had to return home, because if she stayed with him she would never leave.

 

 

 

 

 

Jughead wakes with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. His face feels stiff, as if he’s been crying in his sleep again, and the skin around his eyes is swollen. He scrubs a hand across his face, trying to rub away the sleep. His recollections from the previous night are fuzzy but there is one thing he remembers perfectly, the memory crystal clear – Betty reaching up to brush his hair back from his face, her eyes both sad and tender.

He wasn’t lying when he said their separation was killing him. He misses her so much he feels a physical ache in his chest and every time he tries to talk to her she dismisses him, pushes him away. He knows she’s scared and confused and wracked with guilt, but they were meant to be together. She had to feel it, too.

He is drained, exhausted, so fucking _tired_. Tired of the dreams that plague him, of the pain he is experiencing as the cold weather approaches, of being alone when he could be with the woman he loves. And gradually the fatigue morphs into anger. He is so mad at the unfairness of it all. He never wanted to fight in the war, didn’t want to be left with a wound that he would never fully recover from, and he never, ever wanted to lose Betty when he finally had her in his arms.

He pulls himself from his bed, blood pumping as the rage takes over. He shrugs into a jacket and grabs his bicycle, pedalling out of Sunnyside as fast as he can. He zips through the town until he is on the Northside, on a quaint suburban street, outside of his best friend’s house.

He throws his bike to the ground and heads up the steps to the Andrews home, bangs on the door with his fist. Archie answers, head mussed from sleep and a slow smile appearing on his face at the sight of him.

“Hey, Jug. What’s go–“

“I’m in love with Betty.”

A beat. His brow furrows. “What?”

“We’re in love,” he states, breathless with exertion and the relief of finally confessing. “All the time you were missing and it was just the two of us… We spent a whole goddamn year falling in love, and it was so _good_ between us. And then you came back, and she’s been consumed with guilt – we _both_ have – and now she won’t talk to me. She won’t…” His voice breaks as he starts to cry. “It’s like none of it ever happened and I can’t take it anymore!”

Archie steps out onto the porch and closes the door behind him. He looks concerned as he reaches out to touch Jughead’s shoulder.

“Jug, calm down. Are you–“

“You have _everything_!” he shouts, teeth now gritted as tears pour hot and fast down his face. “We fought in the _same war_ , we saw so much horror, and still, nothing has changed! You get _everything_ and I have _nothing!_ ” he hisses. “When do _I_ get what I want? When do I catch a fucking break?” he sobs, rubbing his sleeve across his face.

Archie grasps his shoulders, looks him dead in the eye.

“Jughead, you need to calm down. Getting this worked up isn’t good for you.”

“What are you doing?” he cries. “You should be yelling at me! Hit me, push me! Do _something_.”

“I’m not gonna do that, Jug,” Archie says calmly.

He shoves at Archie’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards.

“I stole your girl!” he yells, face red. “We had _sex_. She's supposed to marry you and I went behind your back. I took her virginity. You should wanna hurt me!” He shoves him again. “Do it! Hit me. _Hit me!_ ”

Archie grabs at him and pulls him in close, his arms wrapping around his shoulders. Jughead struggles against his hold, trying to push him away, but Archie is stronger, his grip tight as he holds him in a fierce hug.

“It’s okay, man,” Archie murmurs into his ear. “It’s okay.”

Almost immediately, Jughead sags against him, sobbing into his shoulder as his hands clutch at his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Archie says soothingly. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I _love_ her.”

Archie’s arms tighten around him, his voice thick as he responds, “I know… I know.”

 


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end is nigh - not just for this story, but this series. it has been such a fun journey and i am so grateful to everyone who has read, commented on, left kudos, or even just talked about these fics. your support means so much and i am constantly blown away by the response <3
> 
> please let me know what you think of the conclusion. i love hearing from all of you (even if i am slow on the replies!)

Archie’s hand is still gripping Jughead’s shoulder as they sit on his porch steps, his three remaining fingers strong against him. It is a comforting pressure, a physical reminder that he is still with him, but also that things have changed.

“How long have you loved her?”

His answer is vague but nonetheless true. “A long time.”

Archie blows out a harsh breath. “God, I’m so sorry, Jug,” he says. “I had no idea. I feel so stupid.”

“It’s not your fault, Arch. You love her, too.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But not… I don’t think I love her like you do.”

Jughead turns to him, brow furrowed, but remains silent.

“Why didn’t you _say_ something?” Archie asks, exasperated.

Jughead shrugs. “How I felt never mattered. You were together and you loved each other. I only wanted her to be happy… I wanted _both_ of you to be happy. Besides,” he says, a sardonic smile on his face, “Mr and Mrs Cooper are never gonna let Betty be with a guy like me. She’s supposed to end up with someone like you.”

Archie shakes his head. “That’s crap, Jug. Betty doesn’t care about how much money your family has or what side of town you grew up on, and you shouldn’t either. You’re a great man. That’s what matters.”

Jughead’s eyes are glassy as he turns away again, looking out to the street.

“What did you mean, when you said you didn’t love her like I do?”

“I do love Betty,” he assures him. “She’s my best friend and I don’t know who I’d be without her, but… I think I was in love with the _idea_ of her – the idea of _us_. Neighbors, high school sweethearts. Being with her just made sense and it made our parents so happy,” he says, a little frown on his face. “But there’s no spark between us, no passion,” he admits. “She’s my _best_ _friend_ but that’s all she’ll ever be.”

They are quiet, both of them watching the activity on the street – children cycling down the road, people walking their dogs, a woman pushing a stroller. Everything seems so simple from here, on this stoop, in a smalltown suburb. But they had both left this town, had seen the horror and complexity of the world around them, felt the burden of it, heavy on their shoulders, every day.

“How are you really, Arch?” Jughead asks softly.

“Exhausted,” he answers. “I used to be so carefree, my glass always half-full while yours was definitely empty.” They both laugh. “But I understand it now – your cynicism. When I go to sleep, I can hear the screams of grown men and the sound of bombs exploding, and it terrifies me. And after seeing what we saw, how can you be in this world and _not_ be miserable?”

Jughead sighs. “I wish I knew.”

“I want to be that guy again,” he confesses. “I want my glass to be half-full. I wanna fall in love, and get married, and have a couple of kids. I wanna live a good life after fighting so hard to protect it.”

“I want that, too.” Jughead smiles at him, small but genuine. “If there’s only one person who understands how I’m feeling, I’m really glad that person is you.”

Archie smiles back, his fingers squeezing Jughead’s shoulder.

“You know, you should give Betty more credit,” Archie says. “If she really cared so much about what her parents thought, she never would have been with you. She just needs a little push in the right direction.”

The corners of his lips turn up. “I hope you’re right.” Their eyes meet and Jughead’s look brighter than they have in months. “Hey, are you doing anything today?”

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“I’ve got something I wanna show you.”

 

 

 

 

 

Betty uncrosses and re-crosses her legs beneath the table, fidgeting in her seat as she waits for Archie to talk. That morning, he had asked her to meet him at Pop’s, said they had things to discuss. Betty’s face had paled as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew – she could feel it in her gut.

“So I talked to Jughead.”

Her gaze falls, stomach flipping as she anticipates his anger.

“And I need you to know... I’ll always love you, Betty. You’re my best friend,” he continues, voice soft. “But we shouldn’t be together when you’re in love with someone else.”

Her head snaps up. “W-what…”

“You and Jug love each other,” he says, taking her hand in his. “I’m not gonna stand in the way of that.”

“But… what about _us_ , Archie? Our engagement. Our parents are going to be so disappointed.”

“They’ll get over it,” he responds with a shrug. “This isn’t about them, Betty. This is _our_ decision and we can choose to be happy, even if it isn’t what they want.”

She gives him a watery smile and nods. “You’re right.” Her eyes soften as she asks, “We loved each other once, didn’t we?”

One side of his mouth tips up in a half-smile. “We did. We _still_ do,” he replies. “But if we’re being honest with ourselves, we weren’t _in love_. Not really. But that’s okay, because it was really good for a little while and I’m so glad I got to share that time with you.”

She smiles, squeezes his fingers. “Me, too.”

“What we had may not match up to what you have with Jughead,” he says. “But it was still important to me -  _you're_ important to me - and that’s why I have to let you go.”

There is a sadness in his eyes but seeing it doesn’t make her feel terrible or guilty, because this isn’t hurt caused by betrayal. This sadness is wistful, bittersweet.

“You are the best friend either of us could ever ask for,” she says, seriously. “Thank you for being so wonderful.”

He smiles fully now. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“Telling our families is going to be tough,” she says with a slight grimace. “My mother will flip her wig.”

He laughs. “As long as I’m not around to see it. Although, you should find some satisfaction in defying her.”

She smiles. “You know, I think I will.” Her face brightens and she leans in conspiratorially. “The girls in town will be dizzy when they find out Archie Andrews is back on the market.”

“If you say so,” he says, and there is something dismissive in his tone that takes Betty by surprise.

She squints, studying him. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“There may have been a nurse,” he admits, lips turned up at the corners. “Nothing happened,” he is quick to reassure her. “She was working on the ship that brought me back to the States, and I was so tired from all of the travelling that I only just managed to strike up a conversation. But she was nice… pretty.”

“What was her name?” Betty asks, a smile on her face. He seemed almost bashful and Betty thought it was sweet.

“Veronica,” he answers. “She gave me her address, told me to write to her.”

“And are you going to?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I think I will.”

“Good. Because you should be happy, Archie,” she tells him, echoing words Jughead had once said to her. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, Betts.”

She turns to look out of the window, her thoughts returning, as they always did, to Jughead. When she thinks of him that night, drunk and upset and crying out in his sleep, her heart clenches in her chest. She wants to run to him, apologize, beg him to love her again. But she worries that things have gone too far, that she has hurt him too much. She has spent so much time pushing him away and making him her second choice, allowing her guilt to overshadow her love for him. How could he ever want her again?

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes snap over to Archie. “Nothing,” she replies instantly, and then she sighs. “It’s just… I’ve hurt him so badly. What if… What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”

“He does,” Archie says firmly. “There’s no doubt about that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You need to go to him,” he says. “To the house by the river. He’ll be there, waiting for you. I know he will.”

Betty’s throat feels tight, an unexpected emotion taking hold of her – hope.

 

 

 

 

 

Betty’s eyes fill up with tears as soon as she sees it. On the plot of land beside the river, woodwork now clean and white, and shutters painted a rich shade of royal blue, stands Betty’s dream home.

As she walks up the path she can see the work that still needs to be done – the paint that needs retouching, the disassembled porch swing, the empty flower beds – but it is still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. It is almost exactly the way she dreamed it would be and Betty can’t believe that he did all of this, that he did it for _her_.

He is stood in the open doorway when she walks up to the porch, his hands buried in his pockets and a cautious look on his face.

“Jug,” she whispers, but her voice dies as she struggles to find the right words, to find a way to express all of the things she is feeling.

“Come on,” he says, nodding towards the house. “Let me show you around.”

She follows him inside, eyes flickering around as she takes in all of the little details – a vase of roses in the foyer, lilies in the living room, white cabinets in the kitchen and dark wood floors throughout. It is exactly the way she pictured it, how she had described it to him that night that now feels so long ago. It is amazing, a literal dream come true.

She can feel his eyes on her the entire time, watching her as she wanders around the house. They don’t speak, both too afraid to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

She walks through the kitchen to the dining room and then out of the french doors that lead to the back porch. Out there, she finds a small round table, a small vase of daisies in the center. It is the ideal breakfast spot, the perfect place to look out across the yard and beyond to the river.

_Can you imagine it? Waking up every morning and having breakfast right here. It would be the perfect way to start the day, don’t you think?_

Her hand flies up to cover her mouth as a sob escapes.

“Betty?” he asks, sounding panicked. “Are you alright? I know this might be over–“

“It’s perfect,” she cries, turning her watery gaze to him. “When… When did you…”

“I bought it after that night we spent here,” he says, voice soft and eyes even softer. “I used half of my savings to buy the house and the rest to fix it up.”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “But… why?”

He shrugs but a shy smile pulls at his lips. “This place is ours,” he replies, matter-of-fact. “After that night, I knew I couldn’t let anyone else live here. It was meant for us.”

Betty’s heart cracks open, all of the guilt and heartbreak and love she has been supressing spilling out and consuming her. Tears stream down her face as she runs to him and throws her arms around his neck. He catches her, stumbling back a few steps, but his hold is tight around her waist.

She pulls back and reaches up to cup his face, her eyes steady on his.

“I’m so sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry for not being brave, for not fighting for us. I should have told Archie right away. I wasted so much time feeling guilty.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he tries to assure her.

“I do,” she argues. “I hurt us both and it was all for nothing. But I promise, I will never hurt you again. Never, ever.” She smoothes her thumbs across his cheeks. “I… I love you, Juggie. _So_ much.”

A brilliant spreads across his face and _this_ – this is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“I love you, too. God, you have no idea how much I love you.”

 

 

 

 

 

They make love in the master bedroom, upon the new bed he had bought but never slept in.

He had slept in one of the guest rooms every night since he moved in, unable to spend a night alone in the king-size bed, and now he knows why. It was _theirs_ , they were meant to share it, and he didn’t want to spend a single night in it without her by his side.

He lies her out across the pretty floral sheets, sheets he had bought because he thought she would like them. She looks so beautiful against them, blonde hair fanned out around her, cheeks flushed with happiness and desire. They remove their clothes until they are bare and vulnerable before each other, and when they come together it is so sweet that Jughead could weep. It is only their third time together, and while they are still new and unpracticed, he knows where to touch her now to make her gasp and moan, knows how to truly make love to her.

After, they lie together beneath the sheets, her head resting on his bicep. They are face-to-face and Jughead cannot stop staring, cataloguing every exquisite feature on her face as if he might never see her again.

For a time, it had felt that way. He could see her but he couldn’t touch her, and she had felt so far from him. Now, she is here, in his arms and his bed, and he has no intention of letting her go.

“Do you really like it?” he asks quietly. “I tried to decorate it how you wanted, but I know some things may not–“

“Oh, Juggie. It’s beautiful,” she replies, reaching up to cup his face. “It’s even better than I imagined. I just… I just wish I had been here to help you, to be a part of the process.”

Her eyes fill up with tears then and he reaches up to grasp her wrist.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. You’re here now.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles. “I know I should be happy but I… I was terrible to you, Juggie. I don’t know how you can forgive me so easily.”

“I love you,” he says simply. “That’s how I can forgive you.”

She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t,” she murmurs. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Well I have already have. So you can continue beating yourself up over it, or you can lie here with me and be happy.” He smiles. “Which is it gonna be?”

Her eyes are still glassy as she smiles. “Lie here and be happy with you.”

He leans down to kiss her, a soft meeting of lips. It is such a casual touch, one he has missed, and he feels a little thrill at the realization that they can now do this whenever they want, that there will be many more soft kisses in their future.

“The house isn’t quite finished – there’s still some small jobs to do – but Archie has offered to help me on weekends.”

She raises her eyebrows. “He has? He’s so good to us.”

“He loves us,” Jughead responds. “He says he wants us to be happy. And I think… I think we could be happy here. Me and you, _together_ , in this house.”

“Together?” she repeats softly.

“I did this for you, Betts.” He reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I always wanted us to be here together, even when it didn’t seem like we ever would be.” His thumb strokes across the shell of her ear and she shivers. “Will you move in? Will you live here with me?”

“Yes,” she smiles, her answer immediate. She kisses him. “Yes,” she repeats against his lips. “I’ll live here with you.”

He rolls them over, his body pressed against hers as he peppers kisses along her neck. She is warm and soft against him, and finally his.

“Living in sin with Jughead Jones,” she muses, hands stroking along his back. “God, what will my mother think?”

Her words are teasing but he knows there is some truth there, some genuine worry behind the joking. He pulls back to look at her, his arms beside her head, bracing himself above her.

“I want to marry you, Betty,” he tells her, serious, all traces of teasing gone. “I want to wake up in the morning and have breakfast on the porch, and spend our evenings by the river watching the sunset. I wanna come home to you, I want to raise our children here. So, please, don’t focus on what other people are thinking. Focus on what _you_ want.”

She stares up at him, eyes big and beautiful, and intent on him. She smiles.

“I want that, too,” she replies. “All of it, everything. I want a life with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

Betty leans back on the picnic blanket, tips her face up to the warmth of the sun, her copy of _Of Mice and Men_ lying open beside her. At the bottom of the yard, where the grass meets the river, she can hear laughter and splashing. She looks down just as Archie wraps his arm around Veronica’s waist and throws her over his shoulder. She screams in protest, smacking her hands against his back even as she giggles.

Betty smiles to herself and pulls her sunglasses over her eyes again. As she watches them, warmth blooms in her chest. He is so happy these days, her ever-optimistic friend. In the year since his return to Riverdale, some of the old Archie has returned. He is the man who went to war and almost died in the process, but he is also the boy who loved nothing more than to ride around on his bike and play baseball in the fields beside Sweetwater.

She knows Veronica is responsible for a lot of the change - the woman who loves him fiercely and picks him up when he is low. Archie loves her, too, more than he’s ever loved anyone. He had told her as much, confessed over milkshakes at Pop’s that he wants to marry her, has already bought a ring.

His happiness is truly her happiness, and she is so grateful that he has someone who loves him the way he should be loved.

She rises from the blanket then, dusts off the back of her dress, and walks, barefoot, to the house. Jughead is on the porch, sat at their little breakfast table with his typewriter in front of him. He types quickly, completely focused, the click of the keys audible as she approaches.

The war has been won, the announcement coming in over the radio only a week before. The warm summer weather has lingered into the early weeks of September, blessing them with gorgeous sunshine, a lovely counterpart to the news they have been longing to here. And with all of this positivity, Jughead’s passion for writing has returned in full force. He has been writing a lot lately, working on a memoir of sorts.

It is as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders since they heard the news, one that he has carried with since he returned from the front. She knows he still has struggles, will sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, face and chest covered in sweat. But she likes being there beside him, soothing him after his nightmares, and reminding him that he is home and with people who love him.

The knowledge that no more men will be fighting heals him in some way, and allows him to finally type out his feelings and memories from the time he spent on the front. He spends an hour every evening working at his typewriter, his journals open beside him and a look of concentration on his face. She doesn’t disturb him until she calls him in for dinner. She is just so happy that he is writing again, his one true passion.

The clicking stops as soon as she ascends the porch stairs and a smile spreads across his face as he looks over at her. He pushes his chair back and tugs on her hand when she is close, pulling her into his lap. She giggles and leans forward to kiss him, smiling against his lips.

“How’s the writing going?” she asks, her arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Good,” he replies, smiling. “Really good.” He reaches down then, his hand smoothing across the curve of her belly. “How are you? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m alright. I had a little nap by the river, which was nice.” She covers his hand with hers and moves it across her stomach. “She’s moving a lot today. I think you’ll be able to feel it soon.”

He grins, eyes bright with pure joy. “I can’t wait.”

And she knows he means it, more than anything in the world. He has been on a constant high since she told him she was expecting, an almost-permanent smile on his face. Archie has teased him endlessly, noting how strange it was to see cynical Jughead Jones so enamoured with the idea of impending fatherhood.

It warms Betty’s heart in a way she has never experienced before and with every attentive gesture, every watery smile, every hushed word whispered to her belly, Betty falls more in love with him.

She kisses him again, something she will never tire of.

“I’m so goddamn lucky,” he murmurs, thumb stroking across her belly. He half-smiles. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I ask myself the same thing,” she replies, because she does, every day.

She is living a life people write about, and all of the heartbreak and longing feels so worth it, because now they are here, exactly where they should be. Together.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

She smiles, head over heels, now and forever.

“I love you, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (insert typical apology about the cheesiness) but i think these kids deserved it!


End file.
